He shifted uncomfortably, thankful when her gaze turned back to the road. He wasn’t good at handling this stuff. It was Annie’s job to put the right spin on their separation. “I . . . was really busy. There was this big case between a rock star and—”
“So, you were really busy,” she said quietly, her hands curled tightly around the wheel, her eyes staring straight ahead.
“Consumed. ”
“That must be why you never called me. ”
He heard the hurt in her voice and he didn’t know what to say. He’d never heard that tone before, but he wondered suddenly if it had been there all along. “I sent flowers to you every Friday. ”
“Yeah. You thought of me long enough to ask your secretary to send flowers every week. ”
Blake sighed. He was way out in left field with this one. How could he tell his teenage daughter he’d thrown their family away—and all for a few months of hot sex with a woman who hadn’t been alive when Kennedy was shot.
What was he supposed to tell her? The truth, a lie, or something in between?
Annie would know what to do and say. She’d always guided his relationship with Natalie. She told him subtly, with a look or a touch or a whisper, when to reach out to Natalie and when to pull back.
But he had to say something. Natalie was obviously waiting to hear his explanation. “Your mother’s . . . angry with me. I made a few mistakes, and . . . well . . . ”
“You two were separated this spring. ” She said it in a dull, monotonous voice, without looking at him.
He winced. “Just a little break, is all. Everything will be fine now. ”
“Really? Did you have surgery while I was gone—a personality transplant maybe? Or did you retire? Come on, Dad, how is everything going to get better? You hate being at home. ”
He frowned, staring at her stern profile. It was an odd thing for her to say. “That’s not true. ”
“Yeah, right. That’s why I have no memories of you until high school. ”
He sank deeper into his seat. Maybe this was why he stayed away so much. Annie and Natalie wer
e masters at piling on the guilt. “Everything will be fine, Natalie. You’ll see. Your mom’s . . . going to have a baby. ”
“A baby? Oh, my God, how could she not tell me that?” She laughed. “I can’t believe it . . . ”
“It’s true. She’s back in bed with this one—just like with Adrian. And she’s going to need our help. ”
“Our help?” It was all she said, and he was glad she’d dropped the subject of the separation, but after a while, the silence began to gnaw at him. He kept thinking about that ridiculous little sentence, I have no memories of you. It kept coming back even as he tried to push it away.
He stared out the window at his whole life. Years ago, when Natalie was a pudgy-faced child who talked incessantly, it hadn’t been like this between them. She’d looked at him through adoring eyes.
But somewhere along the way, she’d stopped thinking he’d hung the moon, and for no reason that he could remember now, he’d let it go. He was always so damned busy.
He’d never had much time for her; that was certainly true. But that was Annie’s job, motherhood, and she’d done it so effortlessly that Blake had told himself he wasn’t necessary. His job was to bring home money. And by the time he realized that his daughter had stopped coming to him with her problems—a wiggly tooth, a lost teddy bear—it was too late. By then he barely knew her. One day she was a toothless toddler, and the next, she was off to the mall with a group of girls he didn’t recognize.
Sadly, when he thought about it, he had damn few memories of her, either. Moments, yes; pictures in his mind, certainly. But memories, recollections of time spent together, were almost totally absent.
Annie heard the scream first.
“Mommmm!”
She sat up in bed, fluffing the pillows behind her. “I’m in here, Nana!”
Natalie burst into Annie’s bedroom. Grinning, laughing, she dove onto the big king-size bed and threw her arms around Annie. Blake came in a few moments later and stood beside the bed.
Finally, Natalie drew back. Her beautiful blue eyes were filled with tears, but she was smiling from ear to ear.
Annie drank in the sight of her daughter. “I missed you, Nana,” she whispered.